


Down for the Count

by zsra187



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boxer! Rio, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-08-14 11:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsra187/pseuds/zsra187
Summary: She looks back towards Rio weaving his way across the room, but before she can catch his eye, he takes a step up to the ring and ducks under the ropes. Another tattooed clone hands him some gloves andoh my god.Is this really happening?-Set just after 2.07. Beth meets with Rio and gets a surprise.





	1. Chapter 1

For a woman whose years of experience arriving at the school pick up line for _exactly_ 2:30 has honed her time-keeping skills to an almost omniscient level, the fact that she's over 45 minutes late is enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. She's never late.

Beth pulls the key out of the ignition, her car engine flat lining with a ominous finality. _This is it, _it says._ The end of the road, buddy. This is where you get off._ The building in front of her fills her with trepidation. It's an old apartment block in a run-down area of town. Dirty windows, walls sprayed with graffiti; it's the kind of place the old Beth would have crossed the street to avoid. But now? She's actively seeking it out. Had it ever occurred to her that was she was doing was... insane? Of course it had, the words have set up camp inside her mind and practically stamped themselves across her brain. At least, Beth tells herself, a doctor could provide her with a genuine 'insanity' defence if she ever ends up in court for racketeering, counterfeiting, or drug dealing . Which - considering her current situation - isn't as unlikely as she may have once thought.

It's the first time he's ever asked her to meet him in a place like this. Usually it's kiddie parks, empty parking lots, maybe even a run-down old warehouse estate. Never somewhere like this, so central, so thrumming with energy and thriving with life.

She checks the address once again in the text message he'd sent her. 2124 Farmer Street. Yep, this is it. Allowing herself one last deep breath, she grabs the sports bag full of cash from the passenger seat and gets out of the car.

Crossing the busy street, Beth eyes her surroundings warily, realising almost immediately that she should have changed before she left the house - the pale pink blouse with cream flowers makes her stick out like a sore thumb here, even underneath her navy blazer. Nonetheless, she hops over the drain and up onto the sidewalk, strolling towards the black door - number 2124 - with a confident strut. _Fake it 'til you make it babe._

When she reaches the doorway, there's an intercom to her right. She squints, trying to make out the handwriting next to the different buzzers. Mrs Chen? That's probably not it. H. Alhadeff? Nope. Two were just apartment numbers. The last one was simply labelled, BASEMENT. Crossing her fingers, Beth heaves the sports bag further up her shoulder and presses the last buzzer.

If she's expecting the call box to crackle to life, maybe Rio's voice to answer with his lazy and familiar "Yeah?" she's mistaken. Rather, the automated lock clicks almost immediately, and the door swings open to lead her into a dark hallway.

She enters, pausing at the stairwell, listening for any signs of life. There's nothing but silence from the floors above, vague thumps and shouts coming from below. She has no idea where she might find him, but despite her common sense (and every horror movie Annie had ever forced her to watch) telling her to avoid descending into the bowels of a strange building in a deadbeat end of town, she's conscious that she's already extremely late and nervous about testing the last vestiges of Rio's patience. She can literally hear Ruby's voice in her ears. _B, you don't want to pull that thread._ _Just pay the man!_ She can't keep him waiting any longer. Plus, she has an enormous amount of washed cash to drop; she'll be damned if she's going to walk out of here without delivering the product she's worked so hard to turn over. Her pride won't allow it. Figuring she may as well follow the noise, Beth descends the stairwell into the basement.

And her mouth drops, because... well. If there's one thing she wasn't expecting, it's _this_. The place she's just walked into? It's a gym.

A boxing gym.

Just like that, any nervousness she felt is immediately replaced with astonishment. Despite being practically under the ground, the place is _huge_. The last fingers of daylight stream in through high windows that look onto the sidewalk outside, reflecting off the polished floors, making them gleam. Punching bags and speedballs hang from the rafters, weights and dumbbells are set up in one corner, and right in the centre stands an elevated boxing ring. Having never once stepped foot inside a boxing gym before, she's surprised at how - well - how _damn_ _nice_ it looks. The walls are exposed brick, the floors are dark wood, the punch bags are a tan colour, the old-school kind that make Beth feel as though she's walked into a gym back in the 1920s. It's so trendy. So hip. It's so _him_.

Trust him to want to meet her in a place like this.

The one thing it's not, however, is blessedly empty. At least a dozen guys are working out on the floor, some busy pounding at the bags or lifting weights. Two guys are sparring in the ring, too intently focused on hitting and trash-talking each other to even notice that a woman has entered their midst. But the ones closest to the door have been eyeing her with interest from the moment she entered. If she felt out of place on the street outside, now Beth sticks out even worse. _Like a fly on a wedding cake_, her grandmother used to say. She almost cringes as she takes a few steps forward, extremely aware of her heels clicking loudly on the floor. Most seem not to notice though - the thumps against the punching bags and the grunts of frustration are more than loud enough to keep their attention off her for the moment. 

Taking advantage of their distraction, Beth walks around the edge of the room, scanning the bodies on the floor. _Where is he? _The last time she approached him on his territory was the warehouse; her first induction into the enormity of Rio's operation. She hadn't needed to look far to find him there. He had been in the centre of it all, holding court like some kind of king on a throne, shirt sleeves rolled up, men and women flocking to him like he was a saviour or some sort of _God_. And she had practically felt his body buzzing with energy as he directed them, his _drones_, as Ruby had called them. At the time, Beth had been concerned with one thing only- getting him the cash and making them even. But that night, two glasses of wine down and with the calming effect of the distance between them, the long fingers of envy had curled their way around her brain. Imagine having that much control over something, that much _power_. It had been a heady thought, intoxicating enough to make her return to the warehouse the next night and leave her pearls for him to find.

She scans the bodies on the floor, pulse fluttering madly when she spots his lean, familiar form in the corner. He's facing away from her, deep in discussion with a guy who wouldn't look out of place in the Russian mafia (honestly, where does he find all these guys with tattooed eyebrows and knuckles, is there some store he's going to?) She watches him for a moment. His head turns as he talks, and there's a clench low in her belly as she catches his handsome side profile. She _could_ go over, drop the cash and high-tail it out of there. It's still only 7:45, and she has sixty gluten and nut free brownies to make for the school 'Pismo Beach Disaster Relief Fund' tomorrow.

Or...

She could hang back for a little while and use the opportunity to do a little spying of her own.

Something like a thrill zips up her spine at the thought of it. It _had_ previously occurred to her that Rio often showed up at the least expected of places or times. At 4:30 on a Thursday afternoon at Kenny's swim meet. Or 10am at the park, when she's pushing Emma on the swings. Or most unnerving of all, standing across the street in the middle of the night, watching her hammer up the stop sign outside her house. Most of the time, she didn't even realise he was there until a sudden prickling at her neck or the raised hair on her arms gave her the feeling that somewhere, there was a pair of dark eyes focused intently on her. She often wondered how he'd found her, how long he'd been waiting there, whether he enjoyed deliberately watching her.

The fact hadn't passed by Ruby or Annie either. "Gang friend seems to have some sort of sixth sense where you're concerned, you know?" Annie had once commented, making Beth blush down to her toes. "It's like the guy has some sort of weird Beth-radar."

Would she be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it? The first few times it was terrifying - she never knew if he was going to pull out his gun and shoot her in the face. Then it became awkward and slightly embarrassing, his sudden appearances leading her into a self-conscious routine of blouse-fixing, hair fluffing and blazer straightening whenever she was out of the house. But later, Beth wondered if she didn't get some sort of sweet, exhibitionist pleasure out of it, of knowing that he enjoyed watching her, that it made him smile, that he just couldn't _help_ himself...

Of course, it was still completely one-sided and unfair. And now she has the perfect opportunity to reverse the status quo, to have the upper hand for once, of _her_ being the one to watch _him_ for a change.

Her eyes drink him in greedily. He's more casually dressed than she's ever seen him, sweatpants hanging from his narrow hips, black vest showing off toned arms and tanned skin. Her stomach jolts - a hot ache unfurling deep in her belly - when she realises that this is Rio in _workout gear_. Not for the first time, the thought strikes her that she doesn't know what in the world gives him the right to look this good. From the tight jeans and the shirts that he buttons all the way up to the collar, to the eye-wateringly expensive wrist watches, from the beanies to the fine, dark wool winter coat, and now even his gym clothes...

The guy could be a model, Annie had once commented, and Beth agreed. Rio could make anything look good.

And whatever the reason, it does _something_ to her. She can't stop staring, her gaze pulled to him with a magnetic intensity that she can't overcome. She's well aware of the power certain _looks_ have over women - Annie went through a phase of screwing any guy who paired a white shirt with skinny black tie and a waistcoat (the memories still make Beth shudder) and even Ruby claims that Stan's mall cop uniform was solely responsible for the appearance of Harry. "I swear Beth, I don't know what it is, but as soon as he gets on that uniform, I just can't say no. It's like it fries my brain. And the worst thing is, he _knows_ it!"

Somehow, she doesn't get the same feeling with Dean in the pig suit.

But this? She'd always known he had a certain style, a flair for the dramatic (I mean, who else dresses all in black in the height of summer?) but _god_. Beth has to stop herself from biting her lip as she watches him finish his conversation with tattooed eyebrows and turn in her direction. Whatever his 'look' is, she likes it. A lot.

She readies herself as he walks across the floor in her direction, pulling the lapels of her blazer closer across her chest in nervousness. _Don't be ridiculous_, she almost scolds herself. It's not like this isn't like all the other drops she's done. But at the last moment, a shout from beside the ring pulls her out of her thoughts. It seems like the fight in the ring has finished; the two opponents breathing heavily, one with a cut bleeding above his eye. Another guy steps up; well over six foot, nearly as wide as he is tall, with a heavy brow and bulging muscles exploding out of his too-tight tank top. He shoves them both off to the side with a mocking laugh, spits viciously down on the floor and grabs a pair of gloves, clearly ready for a fight. With whom, she has no idea. No one seems to be stepping forward to volunteer, and Beth can't blame them. The guy looks like a whack job.

Turning away, she looks back towards Rio weaving his way across the room, but before she can catch his eye, he takes a step up to the ring and ducks under the ropes. Another tattooed clone hands him some gloves and _oh my god_.

Is this really happening?

He's going to fight. Then she realises - in horror - that the muscle-bound, too-tight-tank top whack job is his opponent.

Surely he can't be fighting a guy that big? She knows next to nothing about boxing, but don't they have weight divisions or something? While Beth doesn't doubt his strength for a second (he once overpowered _Dean_, she reminds herself, who despite his flabby middle was pretty tall), Rio looks alarmingly slender in comparison to the utter powerhouse of a man standing across from him. Ruby had once joked that he was so sleight, the three of them could probably overpower him if they ever met with him alone. _Homeboy's so skinny he looks like an elastic band_. _If I sat on him, he'd snap._

Well, Beth had put that theory to the test, and decidedly concluded that Ruby couldn't be more wrong. Her cheeks colour at the memory of him pinning her up against the bathroom wall, strong enough to hike her legs around his hips, crushing her as if he had every right to do so. He may look skinny, but every inch of him had been firm and supple beneath her fingertips. _Oh, he's strong enough alright._

Without thinking, Beth takes a step closer to the ring. Instantly, she thinks she sees Rio's dark eyes flicker over to where she's standing, but a second later they're looking away again, focused utterly on the man standing in the opposite corner of the ring. She must have imagined it.

"You ready man?" Too-Tight Tank's voice booms, arrogantly loud. "I ain't waiting all night to kick your ass."

Rio gives no reply, just finishes pulling on his gloves. But he's rocking his jaw back and forth in that way he does when she _knows_ he's irritated, and wow, she really pities this idiot if he thinks trash-talking the boss of an inner-city street gang is a good idea.

Somewhere, a bell rings, signalling the start of the fight. The two men start towards each other with surprising speed, gloved fists up. They dart around for a while, testing the waters with small jabs that don't reach either target. Rio's fists remain up, poised in a defensive stance. Neither seems to want to make the first move, until Too-Tight Tank seems to lose his patience - he lunges forward on one foot, fist stretching out to plant the first punch into Rio’s face. It doesn't seem like much - indeed, Rio seems to barely feel it before darting backwards again - but none of that matters to Beth. She inhales a sharp, sudden breath at the hit.

A few more men have wandered over now, the fight in the ring having caught their attention. Despite the earlier calls of encouragement for the last fight from the sidelines, now it's deathly silent as they watch the fight continue.

Too-Tight Tank is clearly a brawler, slugging out deep and powerful hits that make her wince. Rio's the complete opposite. Quick and agile, he plays the ring like he owns it, darting in and out with fast-paced footwork and a defensive stance that indicates he knows his own strengths, and his opponent's weaknesses even more. While Too-Tight Tank takes every opportunity to throw out some overhands, Rio seems to hold back, but when his strikes come, they're dangerous and viciously precise.

Something in the way his body twists and turns brings Beth back to the night when he destroyed the Corvette. She'd been furious with him, frustrated beyond belief that the second she'd had the upper hand, he'd snatched it away from her once again. But there was a power to him, a lithe strength that'd exhilarated her as he leaned over the windscreen and smashed the hell out of it. Now the lines of his body stretch out with each hit; the tautness of the muscles across his back and abdomen clearly visible beneath the tightness of his vest.

The bell sounds, indicating the first round is finished. Both opponents retreat to the corners of the ring and this time she doesn't imagine it - Rio's eyes instantly lock with hers, his gaze something unreadable. She wants to say something to him, only she has no idea what, and anyway, she'd practically have to shout it across the floor and then before her mouth catches up with her brain, the bell dings and he's turned away again, eyes refocused on the centre of the ring. 

The next few rounds pass by in a blur of pounding feet and heavy breaths. If possible, Too-Tight Tank gets more aggressive as time wares on, pushing Rio further back into a corner with ever more frenzied punches that increasingly miss the mark. He seems to know it as well, if the scowl on his face is anything to go by. They're deep into the fourth round when Beth hears something that makes her stomach drop.

"You get a load of the tits on that?"

Was it the sleazy way he said it, or simply the fact that she was the only woman here that makes her instantly presume _she_'s the subject of his comment. Beth straightens her shoulders, throws out her most disgusted look, hoping it can somehow distract from the redness she knows is spreading across her cheeks.

"Hell man, those tits were _made_ for loads, you get me?"

It's pretty clear everyone gets what he means. If possible, Beth feels her cheeks colour even more.

But the baiting doesn't get him the response he's looking for. Rio's nostrils flare, he's breathing hard, but he's still playing defensive, retreating into a corner. Beth can see what he's doing a mile off and Too-Tight Tank is falling straight for it. He follows Rio into the corner and suddenly, his hand strikes out with a loaded punch that hits Rio square in the abdomen. He shifts sideways at the last moment, too late to avoid it altogether, but the way it glances off him sends the huge man off balance. A few seconds of stumbling is enough to let Rio regain the upper-hand. Beth could sense it, the same way a gazelle senses it's being stalked by a predator, a split second before the lethal strike. A few quick strides and he's in, pummelling away at his opponent with quick, merciless precision before delivering a final, vicious uppercut to the jaw that sent the bigger man falling to the ground.

The fight is finished and the spell of silence is broken. The room around her erupts with noise again; men are laughing and cheering, a few calling obscenities at Too-Tight Tank still lying on the floor. Rio doesn't wait to see if his opponent stands up. He rips off the gloves and exits the ring, basking only for a moment in the praise of his boys before he looks straight at her and gives her an upwards nod that says _come on_.

His boys miraculously evaporate when she walks over, and then it's just the two of them, alone in a room full of people.

"You’re late." 

"I’m sorry. Dean’s away and my sitter cancelled last minute. I had to call the neighbour’s daughter, she’s only fifteen."

"Next time I’ll just take a cut of your share for every ten minutes I’m left waitin’."

Beth rolls her eyes. "I said I’m sorry."

"Ain’t good enough," he snaps, turning and walking away through a set of doors. 

He’s pissed. She can’t help but bristle with indignation. All the times she’s waited on park benches and swing sets for him to stroll up late like he didn’t have a care in the world? So unfair. 

She follows him through the set of doors into a locker room. _Don’t rise to it, Beth._ Instead she settles for changing the subject, hoping it’ll soothe his bruised, male crime-boss ego.

"So, how long have you..." She hesitates over the words, struggling to finish her sentence, (which has nothing to do with the fact the he's pulling off his vest over his head and shoving it into a locker) and finally settles for waving her hand in the direction of the ring. "Been doing this?"

He gives the bag at her feet a quick glance, before rustling around in the locker and pulling out a sweater. "That my money?"

She nearly rolls her eyes. Of _course_ he ignores the question. She drops the bag towards him. "Every dime."

He turns around slowly, gives her that up-and-down look that makes her want to swallow her tongue. And because Beth's spent her entire life becoming frustratingly accustomed to men eyeing up her boobs rather than looking at her face, for that reason and that reason _only_ does she keep her eyes firmly on his. _You're not some desperate horny housewife, Beth. You will not ogle the tanned, sculpted abs of a man ten years your junior. _

Still, she falters when he comes towards her, his smirk widening when her eyes flicker down to his chest. "There better be more than dimes in here sweetheart, or I'm coming for your ass."

She's about to retort when a voice from behind interrupts them. "Now is that any way to speak to a lady?"

Beth turns around to find a man leaning against the lockers. He pushes himself upright and makes his way towards them, slapping Rio on the back with a warm smile. "I've told you before about watching that mouth around the ladies." He turns towards her. "Ma'am, I apologise for him. No manners."

Rio snorts derisively, drawing the man's attention back to him. "What's this? There’s a beautiful woman here and all of a sudden you’re shirtless? Put it away, no one wants to see that." 

Trying to avoid the obvious irony that she does, in fact, very _much_ want to see that, Beth extends her hand to the stranger while Rio pulls on his sweater. "Hello, I'm Beth."

The man gives her a wide smile. It's a kind smile, she decides. The crows feet around his eyes and the grey strands peppering his dark hair put him maybe a decade or so older than her. No tattoos, unlike the vast majority of men who surround Rio, indicate no gang affiliation. He takes her hand with a strong grip.

"It’s nice to meet you Beth. I'm André. How do you know my friend here?"

"He’s my business partner." The words roll off her tongue surprisingly easily.

"Oh, really? I didn’t think this asshole had any business being around a woman as beautiful as you." 

Rio laughs; a tight, mocking 'hah' of laughter that immediately makes her blink. What, he doesn't appreciate the asshole comment? He's finds the idea of another man calling her beautiful to be amusing, even ridiculous? Beth brushes the idea off as soon as she thinks it. Entertaining _that_ thought won't get her anywhere.

"Oh, I’m flattered." She shoots André her best smile. "But you forgot smart, capable and resourceful too." 

He gives a low whistle. "Damn, she’s got some balls on her," he says laughingly.

Rio's voice interrupts with a throaty rasp, and he turns to give her one of those heated looks that strips her to her very soul, a look that she returns with equal energy. "Yeah, she thinks she’s runnin’ the whole game now." 

"Yeah I believe that." André gives her another good-natured smile, oblivious to the tension simmering between the two of them. "So what business are you in, Beth?"

"Cars. I own a dealership in North-West Detroit, Boland Motors." Well, technically she doesn’t own it, per se. But she’s been responsible for the complete turnaround, and the thrill saying those words sends up her spine is undeniable. 

"Oh yeah! I’ve seen your commercial on TV." His eyes light up with recognition, and Beth has to actively stop herself from squealing in pleasure. "My wife loves the idea of those fancy teas you got. Maybe we should come down and take a look, she's always saying our car's just too damn small." 

"Oh, you should! We've got a batch of new cars coming in next week. We’ve got a crèche too, to look after those little ones while you're busy browsing." And this, _this_ is what knows. She's good at this.

"I will do." André tilts his head towards Rio. "And my man here..."

The sentence trails off, but Beth knows it's really an unanswered question, a 'What the hell are you two doing together?' kind of question. Both men watch her inquisitively, albeit one with a far more interested gaze than the other.

"He helped me start up. Gave me the confidence to... go it alone." It’s funny how time changes things, fuzzes the memory of a tire iron and broken glass and a violent confrontation. _You can have whatever you want, just stop!_

"Yeah, she don’t need help with that no more," Rio scoffs. He turns towards André. "You ready for Friday?" 

“Of course, man. The guys have been training hard. Rumour has it the Russians have been laying against the ropes recently. Sal’s boys might take a dive in the third round."

Rio shrugs. "Let 'em, it's all accounted for. Let me know how it goes, yeah?"

"Like always."

Beth watches as the two men embrace in a one-armed hug, and returns one last smile to André as he leaves, leaving her and Rio alone once more.

"It's all accounted for? What does that mean?" She's doesn't know why she's asking, when she's got a funny feeling she already knows what it means.

“I don’t take chances, ma. You know that.”

“So it’s fixed. You already know who's going to win.” She's not surprised, not really. That's what he's about, right? Flipping a game, having a finger in every pie; money laundering, selling pills, underground gambling... The list goes on and on.

He steps closer, his gaze focused and steady. “It _means_ whoever decides the odds and collects the bets always makes the money, no matter who wins.”

He says it slowly, patiently, as if explaining something to a child. She supposes she _is_ like a child, in a way. Every time he exposes some new underhand or criminal dealing he has, there's a part of her that's shocked, just for a split second. Until she remembers that the world isn't all sequins and rainbows and bake sales, and hasn't been that way for a long time now. And - even more worrying - Beth finds herself craving these moments, these pearls of wisdom that he drops, just for her. She can take them and run with them, and the world could be her oyster.

“You took a chance on me.”

“You talked the talk. All that ‘go hard or go home’ bullshit. I liked that."

And she might be crazy but they seem closer than ever, so close that she can see the shadow of his long, dark lashes against his cheekbones. His eyes are searching hers, like they're trying to drag some truth from her, and in that exact moment, Beth thinks that he could ask her anything and she'd gladly hand it over without a second thought.

“You like eggplant?”

She blinks. “Eggplant? The vegetable?” 

“Yeah. I know this place, a few blocks from here. Their food’s really good. You down?’

“Are you asking me if I want dinner?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You gotta eat, right?”

“I...” She takes a breath in. _I have to get back to the kids._ The words were on the tip of her tongue. 

“I suppose I could ask the babysitter to stay a little while longer.”

"You suppose, huh?" He shifts his shoulders. "A'ight. I'll wait outside."


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is just setting as Beth steps outside, a pink-orange glow settling on the sidewalk as the sky above descends into inky blackness. As they make their way to the restaurant, she realises that Rio's mood had picked up considerably. He walks next to her with his easy, loping strides and from the corner of her eye, she can see him glance her way every so often, as if making sure she's still there.

The sidewalks are still busy with people making their way home. Beth finds herself forced to dodge and wheel sideways around everyone; mothers with pushchairs, young couples with their hands in each other's back pockets, rush hour foot-traffic. Every time she gets blocked she has to rush to catch up with Rio's long strides, who's miraculously managing to navigate the street without having to step a foot out of line.

Swallowing another growl of frustration, she side-winds her way around a particularly slow-moving grandmother, and hurries back to Rio's side. Instantly, their bodies come back together like magnets, arms swinging, and her heart jumps wildly as their fingers brush.

Beth clears her throat. "Sorry." She brings her hand up to clutch at the strap of her bag while he tilts his head in acknowledgement.

They walk for a minute more before he stops so suddenly that she almost crashes into him.

"This is it."

She looks up at the sign, bright yellow neon shining against a red background. _'Amir's Lebanese'_.

Rio gestures at the door. "Ladies first."

She pushes the glass door and enters. It's a small place with a few booths along one wall, and tables scattered about on the linoleum floor. Beth makes her way to the long glass counter on one side of the room. There are at least twenty dishes underneath, piled high with a huge variety of food: olives and pickles, different dips scattered with pomegranate seeds and olive oil, grilled halloumi with figs marinated in honey, tabbouleh scattered with mint and chopped parsley, little filo pastry parcels oozing with melted cheese. Rio has walked past her and is already pointing out this and that to the man behind the cash register, who's furiously scribbling down their order (which seems to be never-ending) before turning to her with a questioning look.

"You got any allergies?"

"Um... no."

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth (her heart skips a beat) and he turns back to the counter. "That's good," he says, continuing to point at some more dishes and giving the man a nod. "Didn't know if you're one of those no eggs, no dairy, no gluten types, y'know?"

She's about to give him a mouthful ('What do you mean, one of _those_ types?') when another - more intriguing - thought strikes her. "Do you? Have any allergies?"

Either he's too busy scanning the last of the dishes on offer to answer, or else he's deliberately ignoring her. In any case, he finally straightens up and calls out once more. "Yo, can we get two falafel wraps and a side of the fried eggplant. Yeah, that's it." 

Beth listens carefully as the man reads the order back to them. Rio certainly hasn't skimped on the _amount_ of food; it's enough to feed a family of six at least (and she should know). Then it strikes her that most of it - well, nearly _all_ of it - is meatless.

"I didn't peg you for a 'Meat-Free Monday' kind of guy."

"Yeah," he replies in that slow drawl of his, still looking at the food behind the glass. "I don’t eat a lot of meat." 

"You’re a vegetarian?" Her voice sounds surprised in her own ears, so she schools her expression into something more composed. Did that fact just... slip by her? Her mind flits back to their meetings at the coffee shop. He'd already ordered and was devouring his meal by the time she'd arrived, and she'd never actually thought about _what _he was eating.

"Let’s just say I’m reducing my carbon footprint," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Gotta eat less meat. More ethical for the environment, you know?"

She scoffs. "I can’t believe I’m getting lessons in ethics from my friendly neighbourhood drug dealer." 

"Last time I checked ma, you were the one moving the pills.”

She ignores the pet name. "Will you keep your voice down?" she hisses.

"Why?"

"Because someone might hear you!"

"Relax," he says, drawing out word in his easy, nonchalant manner that makes her want to scream. "They don’t give a shit about you in here. You’re with me." 

Beth just about resists the urge to roll her eyes, but still takes a quick glance around to see if anyone heard. With an inward sigh of relief, she discovers that he isn't wrong. Not a single person - not the waitress making coffee or the two men eating by the entrance or the young couple standing behind them in line - not one of them even gives her a second glance. And - looking closer - Beth isn't surprised to see two tattooed, leather-jacket wearing goons hanging around the doorway into the kitchen, and a few more outside. _You're with me._ Yeah, this was definitely Rio's place. She could probably start handing out fake bills and pills right on the restaurant floor and no-one would bat an eyelid.

When she turns back, Rio is leaning slightly over the counter, deep in conversation with the man who took their order, their voices hushed. He hands him some money from a wallet which he shoves back into his pocket when he catches her eye.

"Come on."

He saunters away from the counter and towards a booth. She expects him to sit on the edge, only he slides right down the seat practically to the wall, leans his arm on the back of the cushion and turns towards her, giving her this smug grin that makes her hesitate. Does he want her to sit next to him? The look he's giving her makes her want to practically _combust_, so much so that she feels her hands start to shake. Isn't that what couples do, sit next to each other rather than across? Is this a date? A sudden image floods her mind or her and Rio pressed together on the seat, limbs entwined under the table, feeding each other ice-cream from a shared sundae dish, whispering sweet-nothings into each others' ears. _Oh god, no._

Feeling herself blush, she heads towards the booth, taking the seat across from him. Should she slide down too, so that they're fully opposite each other? Sitting so far away seems somewhat rude, so with an awkward half-shuffle (so much less elegant than his easy slide) Beth manoeuvres herself to the centre of the seat, cringing inwardly as the front of her blouse drags along the table edge. God, she's always hated these tiny booths, they just aren't built for women with boobs as big as hers. The fact hasn't escaped Rio's notice either. He just grins at her as she straightens her shirt, mouth open and tongue licking at his bottom lip, as if he's never seen something so amusing in his entire life.

"So..." she starts. Then stops.

Usually she'd be launching into book club talk right about now. She'd be handing over cash, or unveiling a new business proposition, already rehearsed in her head and polished to perfection. Without it, she has almost no idea what to say.

“I liked your friend.”

She'd thought more about André on the way over. It was true, she liked him. He was friendly, and seemed to have more charm in his little finger than any one of Rio's tattooed gangbangers had in their entire body.

“Yeah, he talks too much.”

“Does he own the gym?”

“Nah, he just runs it. Trains the fighters, promotes matches.”

“Takes the bribes?” she asks with the quirk of an eyebrow. Suddenly she's feeling brave enough to challenge him a little. Maybe there’s something about the intimate setting, their close proximity, the dark blanket of the night muffling the sharp edges of reality... whatever it is, it gives her the confidence to be bold.

“André is good for the business," he replies, ignoring her pointed remark. "Been doing it for a long time. He knows the sport, he’s got a lot of respect.”

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question.

He shrugs, his tongue darting out to run across his lower lip. It was a habit of his that she had picked up on recently. In fact, Beth spent a lot of time thinking about Rio’s lips nowadays; the way they’d curl into a smirk when she’s amusing him, the way his full bottom lip protrudes when he rocks his jaw in annoyance. The way they felt when he’d kissed her neck in the bathroom, making her nearly delirious with want...

"You seem close. Like you've known each other for a while."

He shoots her look, but she's come too far to heed the warning.

"Did he train you?"

He laughs, but it's too forced, too unnatural, too mocking to be genuine. "That’s what you think, huh? Poor kid from the hood learns to channel his anger through boxing?" He rubs his jaw and shifts in his seat, irritation plain on his face. "Coach becomes the father he never had and whatnot? That your white-ass suburban mom wet dream?"

"No, that’s not..." she stumbles over the words. "Don’t be ridiculous."

But a rush of embarrassment slaps her in the face as she realises that’s _exactly_ what she’d thought; in those moment when she’d allowed herself to fantasize about his life and all the things she didn’t know about him, she completely fabricated this cliché, broken home stereotype and just assumed it was true. She swallows hard, her mortification tempered only with shame. 

He leans back, surveying her coolly. "You can think whatever you want, ma. That don’t make it true."

Beth holds up her palms in a gesture of apology. "Sorry."

And thank God for small mercies, that's the exact moment the waitress from earlier materialises in front of their booth, carrying a tray with two cups and a long stemmed, silver teapot. "Here's your tea," she says, oblivious to the simmering tension between the two of them.

Rio takes the pot once she's gone, pouring two cups of tea. Beth gives an inward sigh; she's never been a tea drinker, she much prefers a strong cup of coffee to chase away the bleary-eyed weariness of four children and a household full of chores. But she takes the cup and raises it to her lips, blowing slightly to cool it. She takes a sip and... it's good. Citrusy with a little sweetness, and a hint of something else she can't quite put her finger on.

Rio lifts his teacup and salutes her with it, any irritation replaced with a playful glint in his eye. He takes a gulp and swallows, then says, "Besides, I wanted to be a Lucha libre wrestler."

She nearly chokes on her tea. "Excuse me?"

"You heard."

"The Mexican wrestlers with the masks and the capes?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid. I wasn't into boxing that much." The way he says it, so off-hand, like he isn't suddenly opening up this locked vault and giving her an enormously private insight into his personal life, makes her almost _ache_.

Beth smiles behind her teacup as she takes another sip. It's easy to imagine a little Rio, maybe seven or eight years old, with a homemade mask and an old bed sheet tied around his shoulders, standing on the arm of the couch with his hands on his hips.

"Aren't you worried about telling me this? If this gets out, it'll ruin your image."

"Who you gonna tell? Ain't no-one gonna believe you."

"Did you play with your siblings?"

But he's saved from answering again by the waitress, who seems to have some kind of sixth sense of when best (or worst) to interrupt a conversation. She deposits a platter on the table filled with a whole host of delicious-looking little dishes, and a plate in front of Beth. "Here's your falafel wrap."

The smells coming from in front of her practically fill Beth's mouth with saliva. She didn't have much time for lunch today, just managing to grab a cinnamon Danish on her way from the bank to Ewe-Nique Knits. It's only now that she's confronted with a table full of food that she realises how hungry she actually is.

Rio is already filling his plate with bits of this and that, opening up his wrap and spooning in different dips and sauces. It all looks so good, Beth doesn't even know where to start. He looks up, catches her hesitation. "You gotta try some of this." He pushes a little bowl towards her. "Fried eggplant," he explains at her quizzical look.

Beth takes her fork and scoops a little of the pulpy, deep-purple mixture into her mouth. Within seconds, her eyes are practically rolling back in her head and - without realising - she's letting out a sound of pure pleasure.

"Oh my god, that's so good." It's deep, smoky, intense, and utterly delicious. "How do they get it to taste like that?"

He's grinning at her, then he leans forward and grabs the fork she's holding from her hand (despite the fact that his own fork is _right there_), takes some of the eggplant and puts it in his own mouth. "Mmmm..." he hums. "Smoked paprika."

Beth nods. He's right, just a hint to give the eggplant a depth of smokiness. She shelves the idea in her mental cookbook to use at a later date; it's the kind of dish that Ruby would love.

"Well, I will have some more of that." She grabs a teaspoon from the platter and spoons some more onto her plate.

They spend a minute filling their plates, passing dishes back and forth to each other in an easy manner, the silence peppered with various comments of "What's this?" and "Do you want some?" and "Here, try this one." To the casual observer it must seem like a strangely domestic scene... maybe that's why it ignites such a warm, comforting feeling in her belly. When Rio hands her another bowl with a lazy smile and a simple "Ma?" she has to practically kick herself under the table. _Come on Beth, what do you think this is? Couples Night at the local buffet?_

She swallows the lump that's somehow lodged itself in her throat, and finally begins to tuck into her plate. "So, how'd you find this place?" Then - figuring she may as well go all-in, she asks, "Do you live around here?"

"Why you askin'? You want to go back to my place for coffee?"

He says it easy enough, his eyebrows raised in an expression of complete innocence, but she's not fooled. There's a heavy implication behind his words that makes her head spin.

He grins again (in fact, he doesn't seem to have stopped grinning since they got here, and boy doesn't _that_ make her heart beat faster), and continues.

"The guys like it," he says simply. "Food's good."

"It's delicious," she agrees, taking another forkful of the fried eggplant. "I'll have to try and recreate some of it at home." She runs through a mental inventory of her store cupboard. She definitely has _sweet_ paprika, but isn't sure if she has smoked. Maybe she can stop at the grocery store on the way home...

"You like cookin' up a storm in that big ass kitchen o' yours, huh?"

"Well, with four children you don't really cook up a storm, it kind of just appears in the kitchen and then drags you in."

Rio puts down his fork, chewing thoughtfully. "Nah, that ain't it with you." He looks her straight in the eye. "I've been in your kitchen plenty of times. Always smells good. Place is clean enough to eat dinner off the floor."

Beth feels herself reddening under his easy praise.

"You learn that from Grandma, right? Pot roast and apple pie, all that shit."

"Actually, I never knew my Grandmother. And my Mother never really cooked, so..."

She trails off, and holds her breath. Did she really just say that? She rarely talks about her mom, even with Annie. A lot of the time the woman barely even qualified as a mother. What good does it do anyone to keep dragging up the past, especially when the bad memories outweigh most of the happy ones? Suddenly she's hoping that he won't start questioning her, but he just nods, taking in the information and accepting it without hesitation. 

"Cooking channel?

Beth shakes her head, smiling. "More trial and error."

Looking after Annie, she'd had to learn pretty quick how to whip up the basics; there was only so long her sister could live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She learned how to make Mac and Cheese (if only from the box) and a simple spaghetti with tomato sauce (and a splodge of ketchup, that was Annie's favourite). And then when she'd married Dean, she'd bought a handful of cookbooks and learned the recipes by heart. Soon she found herself braising cod with tomatoes and basil, grilling steak with peppers and onions. And when the kids came along, she had another excuse to buy even more cookbooks - _'1001 Family Dinners on a Budget'_ and _'Feeding the Whole Family: Recipes for Busy Moms'_. She'd learned how to cook delicious meals out of a maternal impulse of her own, and no-one else's.

Suddenly Rio's voice jolts her out of her reverie.

"How's your kid?"

She looks up from her plate to find him watching her expectantly.

"I have four. You're going to need to be more specific." God, who is she trying to kid? She knows _exactly_ which one he means.

He rocks his jaw, almost rolling his eyes. "Baby girl who went missing. What, she was just hiding out in the tree house or some shit?"

"Close," she sighs. "The bottom of my closet."

She cringes at the look of absolute disbelief he gives her. "You didn't think to look there before calling the cops?"

"It's a big closet! And she hid behind the shoe rack, there's no way I would have been able to see her." And _besides_, Dean had already called the police by the time she got home. He said he'd already checked everywhere, and in her panic, she'd believed him.

"Hope you gave her the ass-whoopin' of a lifetime," he says.

Beth wipes her mouth with a napkin, throwing it down with a big sigh. "No. I was too relieved."

He nods, and she _knows_ he gets it. He's got a kid too, right? And he's delved into this world so much deeper than her. The fear that her child could be paying the price for a decision she'd made mustn't be one that was felt only by her.

Maybe that was why he'd done it. Gone to the crack den, just to be sure Jane wasn't there, then taken the dubby back with him when he realised what it was. There's a sudden swoop in her stomach when Beth realises that this is the first time they've seen each other since that night. Should she bring it up? She wasn't sure. She'd barely had time to stroke her hands over the soft pink wool before Dean and the kids had barged into the kitchen and she'd been forced to shove the blanket back into the envelope and stuff it under the counter. Later, she'd hidden it in Jane's room where it was miraculously 'found', and since then she hadn't really had a chance to think about what it all _meant_.

Did he know just how much that blanket meant to Jane? How much getting it back would mean to _her_? The look on her daughter's face when Beth handed her back the dubby was one of pure adoration. What mother wouldn't die for that look?

"She wanted me to find her," she continues. "Like it was some big game of hide and seek."

"Yeah, kids are like that."

"I guess..." She hesitates. "I guess it's my fault." She starts talking, and then the words tumble out of her mouth without pause. "I haven't been giving them as much attention as I used to, ever since I started this. And I know they miss me. But I just can't seem to..." She looks at him, and their eyes meet. "...stop."

She pulls her eyes away, feeling instantly self-conscious.

"How do you do it?" It's a blatant effort to ease the awkwardness, but all the same, the answer intrigues her. "With your son?"

She expects him to respond with another unsympathetic monologue about how she needs to be a boss bitch, separate her personal life from the job. But he's silent for a long time, so long that she's certain she's been well and truly ignored, then he finally speaks.

"He spends half the time at his mom's. That makes it easier."

She nods. It would be nice to have the luxury, she almost thinks, imagining all the spare time she'd have. But almost as soon as the thought enters her brain she's pedalling backwards. No matter how demanding they are, how many grass stains she has to scrub out of football shirts or how much glitter she has to suck out of the couch creases, the thought of having to share custody of her children, of only seeing them for _half_ of the rest of her life, leaves her with a chill. No, she would never want that. Ever.

"Besides," he adds. "I ain't got four to worry about. Just one."

"Yeah," she agrees. And he seemed like a pretty perfectly well-behaved kid, from what she'd seen at the play park. Sweet, well-mannered, considerate. _God, it's so easy when you only have one_.

"What's his name?"

There's a pause, as if he's weighing up whether to tell her.

"Marcus," he says, his voice soft.

"How old is he?"

"Six."

He's the same age as Jane, she realises. "That's a good age. Still cute and not old enough to know how to lie their way out of trouble."

Of course, Jane learned how to lie her way out of trouble years ago. She was just like Annie; they both practically came out of the womb talking, and with the uncanny ability to weasel their way out of a tight spot. But Beth suspected Jane was the exception to most six year olds, rather than the rule.

"Yeah, Marcus don't get in trouble."

"So he doesn't take after you?" she teases gently.

He rewards her with a quick smile. "Hope not."

And she smiles back, and then it's just the two of them, sitting in a booth smiling at each other, until a shadow falls over them and they both turn to find one of Rio's boys standing at the end of the table. 

The smile leave's Rio's face immediately. He slides down to the end of the booth, and Beth watches as the man leans down to talk quietly in Rio's ear.

Whatever the news is, Beth can't tell if it's good or bad. Rio's face remains impassive as he listens, then he finally stands up.

"I gotta go." He shoves his hand into his pocket, then throws a few bills on the table. "Dinner's on me, yeah?"

She should be pleased. It's getting late and she needs to go too, her kids are waiting for her. So Beth nods, trying to tamp down the enormous disappointment blooming in her chest.

Rio doesn't even seem to notice. He tilts his head towards his buddy, the one with the white vest and permanent scowl. "He'll drive you back to your car."

"It's okay, I can walk."

Rio nods. "Alright. See you 'round."

He starts to walk away, hands jammed into his pockets, when suddenly - before she can stop herself - her voice calls out to him.

"Thank you."

Her voice rings out as clear as a bell, and for a second it's like the whole place goes silent. "Thank you," she repeats. "For getting it back."

She doesn't need to elaborate. She can see it from the way he looks at her, from his eyes that are heavy but still somehow soft as they gaze steadily into hers. He _has_ to know what she's talking about. He has to have been thinking about it as much as she has, unable to forget this invisible, unspoken line they've somehow crossed.

Then he shakes his head and shrugs slightly, as if the whole thing was no big deal. "Don't mention it," he says, and there's a smile playing on his lips as he turns away and walks towards the door.

Beth watches as he leaves, letting out a breath she didn't even realise she was holding. She tries replaying their conversation in her head, but within moments the whole evening is a blur, with only colours, sounds and smiles flashing in front of her eyes. Later on, she'll probably even forget what they talked about, the inane chit-chat. But she'll always remember the way she feels right now, the fluttering in her belly, the warmth spreading through her chest, the giddiness that makes her body tingle.

With a sigh, Beth checks her watch. It's late, too late. She needs to go. She raises her hand, and signals the waitress with a wave and a smile.

"Excuse me. Can I get a box to take this home?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for Beth and Rio finding out little things about each other, so this chapter is basically complete wish fulfilment. 
> 
> Also, I don't think Marcus's name has ever been mentioned out loud in the show and I'm sure Beth doesn't know it, so thought I'd put that in there too!
> 
> Please leave a comment to let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic was born because I am in love with the idea of these two secretly watching each other and really enjoying it. Rio watches Beth so often in the show, so I felt like it was time to give Beth the opportunity to even the score! And let's be honest, who wouldn't take the opportunity to stare at him for a while...


End file.
